Page 39 of Texting My Secret Santa

I can’t call her Snowflake on camera. I need to remember that. What if Dan sees and starts asking why I’m giving his sister cute nicknames?

One hand over the over, cautiously finding her footholds, she begins the ascent. The angle makes it difficult for me not to dwellon her shape. Instead, I zoom in on her smile when she reaches the top. She stares down at me, then slowly descends.

When she finishes, she unstraps herself, runs over, and throws her arms around me.

“I did it,” she yells, breathless.

“I’m proud of you,” I say, laughing as I spin her around.

She quickly steps away when I put her down. “Sorry, Asher. I didn’t mean to do that.”

The good vibes vanish as quickly as they appear. There’s something sad and unfair about her apologizing for hugging me. I understand why she might feel the need to do so. If the wrong person saw us …

I’m so tired of everything being so complicated.

“It’s fine. I got that on video. Your great ascent, you should be proud. You were visibly nervous, but you overcame your fears.”

She grins. “Thanks, Asher.”

CHAPTER 15

HOLLY

On the ride home, I quickly review the footage at triple speed. It’s like a dream sequence of warmth and happiness, all smiles, all good feelings. The only part I’ll have to delete is when he uses my nickname. What if Dan sees this video and hears his best friend call me that?

Putting my camera away, I ask, “Any update on your Secret Santa?”

We’re at a red light. We’ve hit weekend rush hour, catching the last-minute shoppers rushing to get gifts.

He glances at me with a smirk. I could get used to him in a bright Christmas sweater. He looks warm and cozy while retaining that strong and dominant look. “You’re obsessed with the Secret Santa thing.”

“I wouldn’t sayobsessed. I’m just curious.”

I need to know if he’s the man I’ve been texting, sharing my thoughts and feelings and flirting with. It goes against my determination to pretend any steaminess between us never happened, but I can’t help it.

“I’m still deciding on a gift,” he mutters, staring at the road.

Why doesn’t he want to look at me? Am I being childish? I could outright ask him.

“Has she given you any hints?”

“Who said my Secret Santa was a woman?”

I shrug.

He seems relieved when the light changes, his car growling as he pulls away. It’s like his vehicle makes all the sounds he wishes he could.

“First, you ask about my ex, and now you assume my Secret Santa is a woman. For somebody who wants to pretend nothing has ever happened between us, you’re persistent, Snowflake.”

“Relax. I didn’t say I was jealous about your Secret Santa.”

“Does that mean you’re jealous of my ex?”

“Do you want me to be?” I snap.

He smirks. What a douche, but I like it. What does that make me—a douche-ess, a she-douche? “It would mean we’re on an even playing field.”

“You’ve got nothing to be jealous of, so I wouldn’t worry about that.AndI wasonlyasking about your Secret Santa, not your ex. You said you don’t want to talk about your ex.”

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